By George K. Werner (former education minister)
The Catholic Church has entered the season of Lent—a sacred time set aside not for defensiveness, but for honest self-examination. Lent calls believers to look inward before assigning blame outward. As Scripture reminds us:
“Let us examine our ways and test them and let us return to the Lord.” (Lamentations 3:40)
It is in this spirit that the recent statement issued by the Parent-Teacher Association (PTA) of St. Teresa’s Convent Catholic High School deserves reflection—not rejection, but deeper honesty.
The statement is polished, reverent, and clearly motivated by love for the school and concern for its moral standing. Yet it remains incomplete. Not because it lacks moral language, but because it avoids the most demanding work Lent requires self-implication.
Let us begin with clarity. The students involved are Grade 12 students, not minors. They are young women on the threshold of adulthood—months away from university, work, and independent life. Any response that frames them primarily as passive “children” in need of shielding, rather than as young adults in formation, misreads both their developmental stage and the world they already inhabit.
That world was visible in the video itself.
The footage shows students singing along, reciting lyrics, and dancing. This detail is not incidental. It fundamentally alters the moral narrative. These young women were not encountering unfamiliar content for the first time. They knew the song. They knew the words. They participated confidently.
There is also an uncomfortable consistency between word and action. The students are not only singing the lyrics; they are dancing—energetically, playfully, and flirtatiously. In ordinary English, that combination of movement and mood is precisely what the word frisky describes. The difficulty, then, is not that the students behaved out of character—but that adults appear surprised when the character they themselves tolerate becomes publicly visible.
This does not indict the students.
It calls adults to honesty.
It is also worth stating plainly that St. Teresa’s girls are commonly known as “Friskies.” This is not a label imposed by critics; it is an internal nickname that has circulated for years. Words shape identity. When a community normalizes a term whose contemporary meaning carries flirtatious undertones, it should not be surprised when youthful energy expresses itself in ways consistent with that language. The discomfort, then, is not with sudden misbehavior, but with visibility. The mirror has spoken.
The PTA statement places overwhelming responsibility on the artist, framing the incident as a “violation of trust.” Yet the students invited an artist whose life journey and personal struggles are publicly known. This does not diminish his dignity, nor does it excuse inappropriate conduct. But it does mean the invitation was made with awareness, not innocence. Lent asks us to be truthful about context: invitations are not neutral, and discernment begins long before a stage is set.
If, as the statement asserts, songs were pre-agreed, then a simple and unavoidable question arises: who raised this particular song—and why was it not stopped?
That question is never asked.
The performance did not last seconds. It unfolded long enough for call-and-response singing, dancing, phones to be raised, and videos to circulate. Adults were present. Authority existed. What failed was not morality in the abstract, but adult intervention in real time. Silence and hesitation—not absence—defined the moment.
A keen and engaged parent, knowing this was a student-organized event involving hired performers, would reasonably have asked basic questions: What is the itinerary? What is the program for the day? Which songs are approved? Who is supervising performances in real time? These are not acts of mistrust; they are acts of care. Instead, we are told that students were given wide leeway to organize the event largely on their own. Autonomy without adult curiosity is not formation—it is abdication.
Here, a broader Liberian pattern emerges. There is a persistent temptation to ask schools to do what parents either struggle to do—or have quietly stopped doing. Moral formation, cultural discernment, and digital supervision are increasingly outsourced to schools, especially faith-based ones, while families step back. This is not always neglect; it is often exhaustion or misplaced trust. But disappointment is inevitable when institutions are asked to replace what only families can provide.
Catholic teaching has long been unambiguous on this point: parents are the primary educators of their children—morally, spiritually, and culturally. Catholic schools exist to assist families, not to substitute for them. The Church does not permit parents to outsource moral formation to institutions; it insists that schools support families who remain fully responsible. No Catholic school, however disciplined or devout, was ever meant to replace engaged parenting.
This reality is even more pressing in today’s world. St. Teresa’s Convent, like all schools, now operates in a radically different age. Students carry smartphones. They have social media accounts. They are deeply fluent in music, dance, and creative arts. Much of this exposure does not originate in schools. It happens in families—through shared screens, shared data plans, cars, living rooms, and unmonitored digital spaces.
Schools do not create culture in isolation. They reflect it.
Parental responsibility in this moment is therefore not primarily about punishment or apology. It is about formation. Protection without preparation is not parenting; it is postponement. If our daughters can sing the lyrics fluently and dance to them confidently, the response cannot be moral panic. It must be moral guidance.
This is where language matters.
There is strong evidence that joyful and playful learning improves educational outcomes. Joy, movement, music, and creative expression are not enemies of learning or moral formation; they are often essential to it. Catholic education itself has long affirmed joy as part of human flourishing.
But precision matters. Playful and joyful are not the same as frisky. In contemporary usage, frisky carries flirtatious and sexually suggestive connotations when applied to people. When an institution speaks of grace, modesty, and moral formation while simultaneously embracing such language, it sends mixed signals—signals that confuse rather than guide.
Joy belongs in education.
Playfulness enhances learning.
Friskiness, as the word is now understood, takes the idea too far.
What was missed here was a powerful educational moment: an opportunity to speak honestly about public versus private space, context, audience, digital permanence, self-restraint, dignity, and agency in a world of constant visibility. Instead, the response leans toward reputational repair and moral distancing.
Lent calls us higher.
It calls parents, teachers, and institutions alike to resist moral panic and embrace moral ownership. Moral authority is not preserved by selective outrage or carefully managed apologies, but by truth—especially when that truth implicates us.
The video did not introduce values. It revealed them.
What we choose to do with that revelation—particularly in this season of Lent—will determine whether this becomes a moment of genuine formation, or merely another episode of embarrassment managed after the fact.
